


bared

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rentboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never talk about it. It’s just a thing that happens sometimes, when Derek is too fucked up to resist and Stiles is too needy to turn him away. He likes to pretend like it’s the money, but it isn’t. They both know it isn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bared

**Author's Note:**

> hahahaha i am not even kitting about how much vodka i have had tonight. tomato promised this was english and said i should call it something, which i think i did. someone else on my twitter feed requested this and FUCKED IF I KNOW who that was. If I wrote this for you, come ye forth and claim your porn. Cause that's all this is. Porn. You're so fucking welcome, you dirty people. I love you.

“Bare,” Derek says, and he bends Stiles in half and ruts wetly into the crease of his ass. “How much for no condom?” 

“Shit,” Stiles chokes out, because he doesn’t do this. He fucks clean and safe, his bookings written down neatly into the little calendar he keeps on his desk. That stupid fucking calendar. It’s how Derek found out in the first place, and how Stiles wound up here now, his hands caught up in his shirt as Derek fucks the slit of Stiles’ thighs. “I don’t—”

“Come on,” Derek says. He’s got Stiles by the throat, his eyes flashing. “Let me fuck you, come on, yeah.” 

“Three hundred,” Stiles chokes out, and Derek growls, reaches behind himself for his back pocket. Stiles hardly even registers it as Derek grapples for his wallet. He yanks it out of his jeans, shoves them down in the process. 

“Three hundred, yeah,” Derek repeats. He shakes his wallet open with the hand not clenched around Stiles’ throat. “You’re so cheap.” 

Stiles is nothing of the sort, but he’s not going to complain when Derek shakes his wallet out and grabs a fistful of crisp bills. They’re fresh, sharp folds, which means Derek went to the bank for this. He stood in line to take out cash so that he could put his dick in Stiles and come inside him. 

“You want to count it?” 

“Fuck,” Stiles moans. He reaches down and fists his own dick, strokes it shamelessly. None of his other clients fuck him like this. But then, none of his other clients are Derek. They’re businessmen and housewives, looking for a little fun, looking for an escape, looking for something to kickstart their divorce. Stiles doesn’t care. He fucks and gets fucked indiscriminately, until Derek calls him, all proper, for an appointment. Then Stiles loses all the threads of his carefully constructed profession and gets down on his knees and takes Derek’s cock down his throat because he fucking wants it. The money is nothing but an excuse. “You gotta—”

“So fucking sloppy,” Derek bites out. He hitches Stiles up higher against the wall and shoves his pants further down his thighs. “You get your asshole ready for me?” 

“Part of the service,” Stiles says. He bites back a groan as Derek slips his fingers between Stiles’ thighs to check. He slides in so nice and smooth, two fingers in Stiles’ asshole, like he cares if this is okay for Stiles. He doesn’t. They both know this is nothing more than a fuck, bought and paid in full. 

Derek pushes in in one swift thrust. His dick is huge, splitting Stiles open. Stiles groans and spreads his legs even further. No matter how many people he fucks, none of them fit inside him like Derek does. 

Their fuck is hard and sloppy, all biting kisses and grasping hands. Stiles can’t get enough of Derek’s reckless thrusts, and Derek, with nothing to hide, nothing to hold back, fucks Stiles with abandon, his canines extended and dangerous. Stiles flicks his teeth over them and comes all over Derek’s stomach. His spunk goes all over the place, and it’s so good, so fucking dirty. Stiles doesn’t need the cash that’s settled around their feet. He’d fuck Derek for the pleasure of it. 

But Derek will never ask. 

“Shit,” Derek gasps out, and his hands go to Stiles’ hips. He holds him still as he screws his dick into Stiles’ asshole. Stiles’s head knocks back against the wall as he goes lax in Derek’s grip. “Yeah,” Derek says. He bites Stiles’ throat. “Yeah, fuck. You feel so good. You feel so fucking good, Stiles, fuck—”

He’s losing the threads of it, and Stiles expects him to come, but Derek’s stamina is ridiculous. He keeps fucking Stiles into the wall, his teeth bared, his neck throat bared, everything on display, if only Stiles knew how to get to it. He watches, eyes half-lidded, asshole going sloppy and loose around Derek as Derek fucks him into the wall. 

“Oh shit,” Derek says. His claws scrape and prick at Stiles’ skin. “Yeah, you ready?” 

Stiles doesn’t answer, but he clenches down so that his asshole is tight for Derek when Derek screws his dick into it three, four, five more times. 

“Here,” Derek says. “Oh fuck, here.” He fucks up once more and spills inside Stiles’ body, spraying deep inside him. Stiles moans, oversensitive and too spent to do anything except take it. Derek holds himself there, pulses a few times, coats the slick channel of Stiles’ ass, and Stiles takes it, wishes he could hold it inside him forever. 

Afterwards, Derek pulls out too fast and reaches for his pants, his face turned into the darkness. His spunk slides out of Stiles ass and down his’ thighs, and Stiles rubs his legs together, bites his lip just to feel the ache of it.


End file.
